Tales from the Black Pearl
by Selahcanto
Summary: Each chapter a complete one-shot. So far: Gibbs tells a monster story, and--have you heard the one about Anamaria, the crab, and the donkey? R&R!
1. How the Sea Serpent Came to Be

Disclaimer: An undeserving rat owns everything but the cabin boy.  
  
Warnings: Mild innuendo. Reckless butchering of timelines, sea tales, and folklore.  
  
How the Sea Serpent Came to Be  
  
The Black Pearl rocked quietly over the waves, its canvas a darker shadow against the moon-bright sky. Black water whispered and chuckled as it slipped over keel and hull and the ship dipped and creaked in reply. Captain Jack Sparrow stood quietly at the quarterdeck rail, hands clasped behind him, eyes resting on wet shadows and glittering ripples, listening dreamily to the tales and laughter of the sailors gathered in the shelter of the lanterns before the mast.  
  
Tearlach told of the crew of the Alecton, who had fought bravely against the kraken, a fearsome creature eighteen feet in length, with pale tentacles that could pull a sailor from the deck itself and drag him into the salty deep. The captain and crew had fired cannon and thrown harpoons into its jellied mass, until the giant was killed and brought on board. But the stench it produced as it rotted was so great that they had to jettison the corpse before it could be brought to land to prove their story.  
  
Shuddering slightly at a change in the soft, warm wind, the Pearl protectively cradled her crew, a tiny island of light and movement encircled by the unending dark space of water and sky. With the lamplight flickering mysteriously across her proud face, Anamaria spoke next, recounting a story she had heard with her own ears from Captain Hope of the H.M.S. Fly. While sailing in the clear waters of the Gulf of California, he had seen, swimming below the hull, a fifty-foot sea animal with the head and body of an enormous alligator, but with a neck longer than any alligator had a right to, and flippers instead of feet. Surfacing, the monster had passed by the ship so closely that, if it had been a man, they could have exchanged greetings without shouting.  
  
As she finished, she passed a bottle of rum to Gibbs, who was sitting on a barrel to her right. After taking a long swing and passing the bottle on, Gibbs wiped his mouth and cleared his throat.  
  
"Aye, the sea be full of monsters. There be beasts below that can sink a ship afore a man can wink an eye, creatures the very sight o' which bring bad luck—be they sea monks o' squids, o' the terrible sea serpent. Any o' you dogs heard the tale of how the sea serpent came to be?"  
  
Jack glanced over and down at Gibbs, flashing a gold-toned grin. Gibbs was squinting seriously at their young cabin boy, whose dirty face looked half scared and half fascinated, as he sat with his arms around his knees on the deck. The silver light running along the rigging and the silent solitude of a ship at sea surrounded the storyteller with a hushed expectancy, and the cabin boy and the rest of the crew encouraged Gibbs to go on.  
  
"Well, there was this sailor, see? Young, he were, and handsome t'boot, with large dark eyes and white teeth, an' the ladies liked him fine. He liked them too, with a lass in every port and mebbe two or three. And he docked in all the ports there were, he did." Duncan snickered, then caught Anamaria's frown and covered it with a cough. Gibbs continued with a grin.  
  
"His mates would listen to him brag, telling o' the women he'd had and the things he'd done an' he fancied himself near irresistible to th' fairer sex, like. Seemed as if they would lie down fer him, whether they be high born ladies or maids or whores, and he grew vain as any peacock.  
  
"So, came a day when his mates got tired o' hearin' him boast an' brag, and they played him a mean trick. When it came time fer the crew to take leave o' their ship, they put him off on an island without much 'cept a spring o' fresh water and a palm tree or two. They left him food and rum, laughed and told him they'd come back when the ship set sail again—and this time, they'd be the ones tellin' tales o' pretty and willin' women, because there weren't going to be no lady for him, all alone there."  
  
Leaning moodily over the rail, Jack stared into the night, smelling salt and wet wood and feeling the Pearl move beneath his feet as the helmsman steadied the wheel. But in Jack's imagination he saw a tiny island in the sun, lonely and silent except for the sly mutter of the surf.  
  
"This handsome sailor, he ranted an' he raved, but there weren't a thing to be done, so he settled down to drink like a fish and curse his mates. After a while, what with the rum and the sun, he fell asleep on the beach.  
  
"When he woke, he thought fer a moment o' time that he dreamed still, fer bending o'er him was the loveliest lady he ever saw, pretty and sweet as the dawn and glorious as the sun. Her skin was gleaming white like mother o' pearl and her hair was as gold as a pirate's treasure, and she were naked as the day she were born, see?" Gibbs paused to grab the rum bottle and made a business of drinking and sighing in appreciation before turning back to his impatient audience. He glanced up at Jack, standing at the head of the quarterdeck ladder.  
  
Jack snorted softly to himself, letting his hands shuffle randomly over the rails. Just like Gibbs, picturing a pink-and-gold beauty with a gentle smile, probably nice-mannered enough to take tea with Elizabeth Swann. No, no olive skin darkening to black rings around wild, cruel eyes, no black hair tangled and matted, wound with pearls and beads, no shark's smile. Not in Gibbs' story.  
  
"Now, bein' a red-blooded man, he did what any red-blooded man would do in that situation, right? But she just giggled and moved 'erself out o' his reach. She didn't seem to speak his lingo, but that be nothing to stop a man o' the sea, and he smiled at her and offered her a drink from his bottle, and she came close enough t'take it. An' after a drink or two, mebbe three, it became clear as day that she weren't used to liquor, see?" With a grunt, Anamaria grabs the rum bottle and tips it back. "Not like our Anamaria, I tell ye," Gibbs smirked, and Anamaria kicked him.  
  
"Hoist the mains'l!" squawked the brightly colored parrot perched on Cotton's shoulder, and Gibbs frowned at it. "I be getting there, alright?" he grumbled. "Like Cotton says, nature took its course, like ye might expect, and in the morning this handsome young man sat up, with his head achin' like fire, alone on the beach."  
  
Jack turned to watch his crew, drawn into the story in spite of himself. Uneasily, he remembered waking up to the smell of burning rum. His brow furrowed and he tapped one finger against his chin as he tried to decide if letting a girl get him drunk and take advantage of him instead of the other way around made him a better pirate or a worse one.  
  
Cotton nudged Gibbs and his parrot cackled, "Ahoy, maties!"  
  
"Who's tellin' this tale, mate, me o' you?" Gibbs snapped. Cotton raised his hands in surrender and shook his head, motioning Gibbs to continue, and Gibbs glared at him a moment before speaking again.  
  
"He looked out over the water, and there were his lass, all wet hair and angry face, in the water offshore. Plain to tell from her expression that she was nursin' a terrible grudge fer what went on between them, but that didn't bother him near as much as what he saw when she dived under the waves. She still weren't wearing a stitch o' clothing, but there weren't much to see below her waist now, nothing except"—Gibbs drew out the moment and dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper—"the shinin' tail o' a fish."  
  
Everyone gasped and chuckled appropriately, although no one was really surprised and most had heard the story before. It was getting later, the moon had sunk near the horizon, and the rough, weather-beaten sailors were mellowed by the level of alcohol washing through their veins.  
  
"Now, o'course, when the handsome sailor gets picked up by his crewmates, he tells 'em all about it, and o'course, they figured him to be tellin' tales to save his pride, and none take it seriously, eh? And even the man who was there started t'doubt his own self, after a time, and wondered if it weren't all a dream he had due t'the heat and the rum. So the years go by, and he don't change, except now he brags as once he had a mermaid, because no man stops tellin' a story like that."  
  
Jack, swaying with the motion of the ship, made his way down the steps to the main deck. He leaned against the mast on the edges of the lamplight, letting it dance and play over the silver trinkets in his hair and outline his sharp features.  
  
"It were in Tortuga that she found him again, in a tavern by the docks so filthy and low that it were a shame, even for Tortuga, mates. He were older now, an' not near so pretty—hard livin' had done him justice, and even his lovely eyes were bloodshot and puffy from drink an' debauchery. But she knew him, right enough, and he knew her, and there weren't no mistakin' the boy-child standin' beside her and lookin' at the handsome sailor with his own handsome eyes. An' she starts cursin' and spittin' at him."  
  
"Hey, I thought she couldn't speak to him?" Moises piped up suspiciously.  
  
"Aye, lad," Gibbs said with a knowing air, "but she learned to, seein' as how she spent so many years a-searching for him, determined on revenge. For to her everlasting shame the boy were human as his pa, an' a livin' reproach to her. She curses the boy's father, up and down, and then she goes at him with a knife, and then he weren't a problem to anyone, chums."  
  
Arms crossed, Jack shook his head with amusement and studied the deck. Knife? Gibbs had it wrong. Of course, no one who would mess with a woman with teeth that sharp could have been all that bright to begin with. The man hadn't been just a seducer but a stupid seducer. Couldn't regret someone like that getting what was coming to him. Really, not worth anyone's grief.  
  
Gibbs went on with his story, leaning forward confidingly.  
  
"Once he lay dead, she screamed out her shame and anger and took her oath she'd have no part or piece of humans again. She ran out from the tavern and dived for the waves, flingin' knife and dress and human shape from her as she fell. The sailors that were in that tavern swore up and down that they saw her change, saw her pretty face grow long and fearsome, saw her skin turn scaly and hard, and by the time she surfaced again she were a sea serpent, moving through the water. An' from that day to this, it be fearful bad luck to see her, for she only comes to watch the ships that are doomed by storms and shoals, waiting to pull drowning sailors beneath the waves."  
  
The sailors grinned and began to stretch and stand, moving toward hammocks or watch posts. But the cabin boy stayed where he was and looked up at Gibbs, puzzled.  
  
"But what happened to the boy, her child?" he asked.  
  
Gibbs drew breath to speak and stopped, plainly at a loss. Then he stood and ruffled the lads hair.  
  
"That be a story for another time, youngster. Gettin' time to sleep, it is."  
  
The deck was deserted and quiet, except for the few crewmembers on duty. The moon had set and only the stars lit the sky. The lamplight valiantly struggled to hold the dark up and away from the ship, and the dark sagged and fell around its small bright circle. The Pearl moved smoothly on course.  
  
Jack threw a tipsy salute and a grin to the helmsman and retired for the night. Once safely inside the privacy of his cabin, he got almost drunk enough to forget the end of the story. 


	2. With Wings on Her Feet

Disclaimer: I don't own POTC, I don't make any money, although I might make more if I went back to work instead of writing stories. This story was inspired by, but is in no way the fault of, the Haitian folktale "Wings on Her Feet," as told by Adam Price and found at . I don't own Haiti either.  
  
Wings on Her Feet  
  
The crab and the donkey weren't her fault. It's not like she planned on them at all. But sometimes opportunity doesn't knock on the door. Sometimes it kicks the door down.  
  
Tying all the dresses in the laundry together end-to-end had been Anamaria's fault. She definitely started mud fight with the boys from town. It was her idea to play at being pirates, until she hit Zullie too hard with the stick she was using as a sword, and the girls refused to play anymore. Running off to sneak onto the fishing boats (which almost guaranteed her a day of freedom before being returned to the charity school) was something she did on a regular basis, in spite of the nuns' best efforts to keep her inside. And everyone was sure Anamaria was responsible for the toads falling out of the rafters in the chapel, even if no one saw her do it. None of the other girls could climb up there.  
  
Anamaria hated the charity school. She hated sitting in the hot rooms, wearing the heavy black dresses made from donations of cheap cloth, painfully tracing letters on her slate. She hated the tedious chores, cooking and cleaning, watering and weeding the back garden. She hated the crowded, smelly room where she and fourteen other girls slept each night. But most of all, she hated Saturday mornings.  
  
Every Friday night, the sisters who ran the charity school and their fourteen adolescent charges would gather up little bundles of the spices they grew in the garden—thyme and anise, cinnamon and cloves and oregano. They would sew rough canvas sacks to fill with mangoes, cassava, avocados and coconuts. Sometimes they would even have a sack of sugar or rice from the mission fields.  
  
Anamaria would sit and sew the heavy canvas or sort herbs with Nan Pye, the plump English orphan with big brown eyes and a sweet smile. Nan thought Anamaria was wonderful, with her regal face and elegant slenderness. Anamaria was brave and always up to some kind of mischief. Nan was always obedient and good, which drove Anamaria insane. If Anamaria thought the nun looking after them wasn't watching, she would jab Nan with the steel needle and make her jump or cry. If Sister Evangeline saw her poke Nan, she would have to ask forgiveness and say 'Hail Mary' on her knees in the corner, as many times as Sister Evangeline saw fit. But if Sister Evangeline didn't see her, Anamaria was never punished for it, because Nan was much too kind to tattle on her friend. She would only look at Anamaria reproachfully, with tears in her large dark eyes.  
  
On Saturday morning, the sacks and spices were ready to go to market, and this is what Anamaria hated the most. In theory the girls took turns hauling the heavy sacks into town, to sell to passer-by, but in practice Anamaria was sent more than anyone else. Anamaria always got the best price for their wares, because most of the townspeople were a little afraid of her. Bartering was something the townspeople did to entertain themselves, but Anamaria didn't bargain—she named her price and glared until the cowed farmer stammered and accepted, or she shouted at the fishwives like, well, like a fishwife.  
  
This particular Saturday, Anamaria and Nan set out together along the dirt path to the village, carrying the heavy sacks. Nan had the heaviest sacks, of course, because Anamaria had explained to her that she was bigger and stronger and so should do more of the work. Nan saw that this was fair, and trudged along patiently with her burden. Anamaria walked very fast, because she wanted to finish selling the wares as quickly as possible so that they would have time to go down to the dock or around the craftsmen without Sister Evangeline sending them to bed without supper for tardiness. She snapped and grumbled at Nan for being slow and Nan ducked her head and tried to speed her steps. With an, "Oof!" however, she ran right into Anamaria, who had stopped dead in the road.  
  
Grazing by the road was a small grey donkey, with a broken rope halter around his head. There were ropes around his belly, too, with a few torn sacks still tied in place. Anamaria's eyes shone with glee, and ignoring Nan she stepped forward to grab the frayed end of the halter. The donkey twitched an ear in Anamaria's direction and went on eating grass as Anamaria set her bags on his back.  
  
"Ana, what are you doing?" Nan asked, with her forehead wrinkled and worry in her beautiful eyes. "It's not our donkey..."  
  
"So what? We're going to do its owner a favor and bring it back to town, right? We shouldn't just leave it here. Why shouldn't it give us a ride while we're at it?" Anamaria pulled Nan over to the donkey and clumsily tried to wrap the remaining ropes around the ends of their sacks. Nan, not entirely convinced they were doing the right thing, held the halter and gently stroked the donkey's nose. Once Anamaria had the sacks settled to her satisfaction, she took the halter rope from Nan and led the donkey over to a large rock.  
  
"Oh, no, Anamaria, he's already carrying enough! He shouldn't have to carry you, as well," Nan pleaded as Anamaria swung herself awkwardly onto the donkey's back. Anamaria snorted at Nan's tender heart and insisted that she ride in front. With some effort, and resistance from both the donkey and Nan, everyone was finally in place. Anamaria gave the donkey a sharp kick with both heels and they moved off, down the green hill toward the village at the edge of the blue sea.  
  
Anamaria didn't know it, but the sacks the donkey had when they found him weren't quite empty. One had been filled with live crabs the donkey's owner was bringing home from the docks, and one of the crabs hadn't fallen out. In fact, it had only managed to work one claw out through a rip in the seam of the bag, when Anamaria had put their heavy, full sacks on top of it, and now it was trapped with one claw waving helplessly near Anamaria's ankle.  
  
The two girls in their plain black dresses with their hair in neat braids down their backs bounced along uncomfortably and the donkey hauled them and their load of food to sell at market. The sun was getting higher and higher in the sky. They had spent a long time putting everything on the donkey, and under its load the donkey wasn't making any better speed than they had walking. "Come on, donkey, faster!" shouted Anamaria, "let's go!" and she kicked the poor beast again with both bare feet.  
  
But when she kicked her heels, the crab trapped in the sack on the donkey's back caught her ankle with its sharp claw and pinched, hard.  
  
"Ow. I must have hurt my foot, getting you on," Anamaria grumbled at Nan.  
  
They continued along the dusty road, and each time Anamaria tried to kick the donkey into going faster, the crab would pinch her ankle, making her yelp, and pulling itself bit by bit further from the sack. Nan, who was a very nice girl, didn't want her friend to be hurt, but was glad Anamaria couldn't make the donkey go so fast, when he was carrying such a heavy load.  
  
The morning was well advanced when the donkey, the two girls, and the crab finally came down the hill into the little fishing village. All along the main road (actually, the only road) were the market stalls, already filled with local people, fishmongers and fruit sellers. The stall the charity school usually sold from already had someone in it, measuring out sugar. Anamaria screeched with frustration and drummed her heels on the donkey's belly. This jolted the crab still further from its sack, and it dug its claw firmly into the donkey's side.  
  
The donkey had had enough. With a loud bray, he lashed out with his hind legs, catching the fruit seller's stall squarely with his hooves and sending bananas and pineapples flying. Then he bolted, Anamaria and Nan hanging on desperately to each other and the halter as he careened through the street, scattering sugar and rice across the ground, with small children squealing and laughing as they ran from his path, and market vendors cursing. Several fishermen ran to block the donkey's path as he neared the end of the street, waving their hands and shouting. Spooked, the donkey lowered his head and began to kick and buck, so that Nan tumbled right down his neck to the ground, skirt and hair flying. Anamaria grabbed his mane and squeezed her lanky legs tight around his body, her teeth snapping together and her body jolting from side to side.  
  
Just then, a further complication arrived in the form of a large young man whose face was beet-red from anger, yelling at the top of his lungs. Anamaria was too busy to pay any attention to him, but Nan, who was trying to crawl out from under the donkey, pushed the hair that had come loose from her braid out of her eyes so she could see him and then whimpered a little. It was Mr. Touloulou, who owned all the land behind the charity school. He had four men accompanying him and was roaring out something about a stolen donkey...Nan shut her eyes and her chin started to wobble.  
  
Mr. Touloulou's men ran forward to grab at the donkey's halter, slipping on squashed bananas as they went. The fruit seller, realizing that a wealthy man was responsible for the donkey, began pulling at Mr. Touloulou's arm and loudly calling for reimbursement for his ruined goods. The crowd shouted and laughed, some cheering the men on as they tried to control the donkey and some cheering the donkey. Nan stood at the edge of the crowd, biting her lip and brushing away tears. And Anamaria lost her balance and slid to the ground, landing with her skirt twisted, her legs splayed, and a live crab on her lap.  
  
The donkey took this opportunity to run through a gap in the crowd, strewing what was left of his load over the street, leading four men on a wild chase out of the village and out of this story.  
  
Brushing the fruit seller aside, Mr. Touloulou strode forward and yanked Anamaria to her feet. "I'll see you hang, thief!" he shouted, jabbing his finger at her chest. Anamaria did the only thing she could think of at the moment, and shoved the irate crab into his face. A crab fastening itself securely to your nose is enough to distract even an enraged donkey owner. Mr. Touloulou let go of Anamaria and clutched at the crustacean hanging from his face, and Anamaria, like the donkey, took to her heels.  
  
She knew every corner of the village, but unfortunately there just wasn't that much of it. Turning along the beach, Anamaria ran past surprised fishermen and heard them shout cheerful insults and encouragement at her. Helpful villagers chased after her and she could still hear Mr. Touloulou in the market area roaring out, "Thief, thief!"  
  
Near the dock was a funny little boat with a square sail, that had tied up to take on fresh food and water earlier that day. The stranger sailing it, a thin man dressed in dirty breeches and a ragged shirt with skin blacker than Anamaria had ever seen, had been getting ready to make way and was drifting a few feet out, watching the fun. He flashed a white grin at Anamaria as she stumbled to a halt wondering what to do next. Her lips pressed together with determination, Anamaria ran to onto the wet planks of the dock and jumped lightly down into the rocking boat. "Go on, go!" she shrieked, and the startled sailor burst into laughter and pulled the rudder handle to one side until the sail filled with wind. The little boat moved out merrily onto the waves of the open sea while the villagers pointed and shouted from the beach.  
  
Back in the marketplace, Mr. Touloulou, now crab-free, had finally noticed Nan crying in the street, and laying his hands roughly on her shoulders, he shook her and demanded that she tell him why she and the other girl and stolen his donkey and did she know what happened to thieves? Nan looked up at him and sobbed out the whole story. Mr. Touloulou, had a prickly temper and shouted many things he didn't mean; but at heart he was a good man, and his hands grew gentler on the miserable girl's shoulders as he saw the sincerity in her lovely eyes. He escorted her himself back to the charity school, and reassured her that she would come to no harm. In fact, he took it on himself to visit her several times more, to make sure she was alright. When he was with Nan he was very careful not to shout or get too angry and upset her, and so Nan had a good effect on him. As you might have guessed, they eventually married and had fat, cheerful babies, loved each other the rest of their days, and had the kind of relationship that is extremely satisfying to those involved but rather boring to tell other people about—in short, they lived Happily Ever After.  
  
Anamaria, on the other hand, found herself in the Jolly Mon on the way to Tortuga. This contented her entirely, as she had always thought she would make a good pirate, and Tortuga was definitely the place to for a pirate to be. The sailor was happy to show her how to trim the sail and steer the boat, at least until she slapped him. After that he sulked for most of the trip. Anamaria made up her mind that if she had a chance, she'd steal the boat from him.  
  
After all, every pirate has to start somewhere. 


End file.
